


l'amour fait toujours mieux

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Power Rangers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Power Rangers Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Possessive Nines, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: An encounter in a prison cell, a change of heart, the delicate touch of an android bordering on delirium.You’re safe now. They won’t be able to touch you. Not now.Not ever.





	l'amour fait toujours mieux

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fatal Attraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/213006) by [Dream_edge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_edge/pseuds/Dream_edge). 



> Welcome to my super indulgent Power Rangers fusion fic. I have no regrets.

Connor is cornered in. He’s alone, surrounded by more anti-droids than he can count, and his head is swimming from thirium loss.

He slows down his perceptive abilities, bringing him more time to assess his situation. _Think, Connor_. His hand is hovering over his energy pistol, but he’d likely only be able to fire a few shots before he got overwhelmed completely. Comms are down because of his own unknown location, and so backup is unavailable. It would still leave him with the issue of surviving until reinforcements arrived.

The blue ranger so direly wished he had mastered control over his Cobalt Saber before he was taken, and hoped this would be the deus ex machina needed to extricate it from his protocols. In his mind, he urges the weapon to materialize in his hand, but today does not seem to be the day for it. _Not yet._

He clenches his fists, snarling at the inordinately calm blue shield encasing the Cobalt Saber in his mind. It seems he’s only left with one option － exhaustion setting in from prolonged slowdown, vision blurring the edges of the mob in front of and around him.

Pistol in hand, he’s ready to go down fighting.

 

A shadow lurking in the recesses of the prison ship, pacing the lengths of the area, an internal struggle in its mind. _Deviate, delineate._

 

In a perception that feels like a lifetime, Connor has only been fighting for his life for less than an hour in reality. _Shoot one, and another rises to replace it. Over and over and over._

_Thirium levels: 53%_ ▼

Thirium levels already precariously low, and there seems to be no end to it all. _If-_ When he survives this, he won’t be able to assist the team should the need arise. _Not for a while._ He knows the suit is protecting him from what could be worse hits in his civilian wear, but it sure as hell feels like a prison right now.

_If-_ When there comes an end to this, they may find him with abnormally high stress levels and adrenaline-like substance coursing through his veins. _Whatever state they may find me in_. He grimaces, noticing shaking in the hand holding the gun. _rA9, save me_.

 

Chaos, wildfire in a person-like form, stops. It turns heel. It has made up its mind.

 

Salvation comes shrouded in darkness. It’s hard not to notice the swathes of black that paint his vision, despite the overwhelming mob that has Connor almost pulling under.

Every simulated breath, every beat in his pump regulator keeps Connor fighting, but also falling. _Slowly, slowly, slowly_ , as stress elevates and his thirium supply decreases, bleeding evident in the luminescent puddle lining his shadow.

The anti-droid mob is cut down, piece by piece by this obscured and mysterious force. Connor should feel fear, should feel _anything_ but the overdrive he’s subjected to. A force powerful enough to cut down an army in its lonesome could do unspeakable things to a singular, bleeding, ~~_dying_~~ ranger.

Connor’s insides feel held together by wisps of string and the fumes of overdrive that has kept him alive thus far. His vision blurs together, the prison cell blissfully quiet save for _click-clack_ steps of the whatever-it-was that had saved him.

He feels lighter than air, carried bridal style by his savior. Mouth partly opened, drying thirium on Connor’s bottom lip. The hooded stranger is saying things to him, a rumbling low tone that would be fit for better places－ _whispering dastardly things in the night, Connor’s back against the wall_ －but Connor is far too incapacitated to understand.

The blue ranger lifts a finger, reaches to trace the hollows of his savior’s cheek. “You’re… you’re _p͠re̴t̶ty͏…_ ” static bleeds into his voice, the Grid drains from him and he’s left clinging onto the dredges of life, at the knife’s edge of an emergency shutdown.

_You’re safe now. They won’t be able to touch you. Not now._

_Not ever._

* * *

 

...

 

The next time Connor wakes, he’s in the control center, lying down on a bed. The ordeal, the experience, the memory of his last moment of consciousness presses on him, causing a wheeze that notifies Hank of his awakening. _It has been 8 days, 11 hours, 47 minutes, and 28 seconds…_

“Connor!” his handler is by his side almost immediately, but Connor sees the monitors of his teammates’ cameras or optical feeds in the console behind Hank, footage of a stakeout in progress. The world has not stopped in his downtime. “Easy, son. How are you feeling?”

“Tire̷͡͞d҉҉.” Connor coughs, kickstarting a recalibration of his vocal processors. _Patch me in_ , he instead writes on his hand display. _I’ll be fine._

Used to Connor’s stubbornness, Hank frowns slightly but moves back to the computer to reintegrate Connor to the team communication lines.

_Hey guys._

_Connor!_ Pink reacts first, relief evident. _Thank goodness you woke up._

_-Not that we doubted that you would_ , Red pipes up next. _But you were out for a while. Can’t blame you for that._

_And that’s why they had to call me in for backup_. Black ranger’s voice is loud and obnoxious, it’s odd now hearing her making joking remarks towards him. _Thanks for that._

_Pleasure’s all mine._ They may not see it, but Connor has a cheeky grin on his face, settling back into the role despite his current status.

“Alright, alright, keep comms clear. Back to the mission at hand,” Hank reminds them all, and sends the mission brief to Connor. His LED blinks yellow at the receipt, processing the information at his typical supercomputer speeds. A far cry from his previous state, of blurry images and moving shadows and slurred words.

All five active rangers were deployed to investigate several locations of what _should_ be an abandoned factory facility. Yellow and Red are looking for some kind of terminal to uncover pertinent information about the facility. Why it was shut down, and what CyberLife could possibly be doing with it in its dilapidated form.

Green, Pink, and Black are checking out the building proper, if there are any active machinery or facilities that need to be shut down. _Would three rangers be enough if it ends up being a trap?_ Connor thinks, and hopes for the best as he switches between Markus’ red-bordered view to Luther’s green one.

“Alright,” Yellow’s voice fills the intercom. “Looks like this building was for a subsidiary under CyberLife before the breakdown. Used for thirium synthesis and as backup energy source, but had to close down when thirium production was transferred to public laboratories and power plants,” he brings up images on the HUD, search engine results of the original factory’s facade, as well as several key persons involved in the operations.

“I think they’re trying to harvest what’s left,” Black remarks, and Connor flicks his screen to North’s view. They’re in a hallway at sub-level, helmet lights their main source of illumination, muted blue light on the floor running up and down the length of it. “There’s signs of recent activity, there’s almost definitely thirium－tanks and tanks of it－still present.”

“Tread carefully, rangers,” Hank says as he looks up any recent adversaries that looked like it needed the thirium boost. “Go for stealth as much as possible, we don’t have the full team on call.”

Hank could practically _sense_ Connor’s hero complex rising to the occasion, turns and points an accusatory finger at him. “ _You_ don’t get to join this mission until we’re sure everything checks out. And that’s not until _after_ this one.”

Connor looks at him with narrowed eyes, something akin to a wildfire within him screaming to be deployed－ _Cobalt Saber or no, he’s still a member of this_ team－but he backs down, two sides in his system silently warring only betrayed by the yellow LED spinning on his temple. Leaving Connor to his thoughts, Hank turns back to the console.

“I think we’ve got all the information we can get from this place,” Red says, uploading all the other remaining files in the terminal. When the last file syncs, darkness floods Markus and Simon’s feeds. _Oh, fuck._

Their helmets automatically illuminate seconds after. “ _You shouldn’t have come._ ”

The sinister, _familiar_ voice stills Connor. _It’s you_.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Red, ever the charismatic leader, keeps his voice even but commanding. “One of CyberLife’s newest lackeys?” He taunts, pulse rifle at the ready.

It’s far too dark to clearly see what’s going on, but the masked intruder was suddenly behind Yellow, holding his neck by the arm. “If I was, what would you be able to do about it?” they tilt their head.

There’s too many things happening at the same time. Pink, Green, and Black forego stealth to destroy as many thirium tanks as possible, the hissing and explosive sounds grating on his audio receptors, piercing through the veil of concern and _call to action_ of Yellow’s captivity. Connor squeezes his eyes shut, but the feeds still appear behind his lids. _No escape. Can’t escape this time_.

“We’re on our way!” Green comms in, running down the echoing hallway evident in the comm link.

“How the _hell_ did you get over there?” Red levels the gun to the captor’s face, aim steady with a 98.67% probability of hitting the intended target. Not unless they do whatever the hell they did to get to Yellow in the first place. “And what are you doing here?”

“ _I_ should be the one asking _you_ these questions,” the captor’s other gloved hand reaching to hold Yellow by the bottom of his helmet, tilting Yellow’s head up. “This is CyberLife property, and what you are doing is unauthorized trespassing. Didn’t you read the sign?”

Under the red helmet, Markus’ jaw clenches. A shotgun materializes in the black glove’s grip out of nowhere, aimed _right. at. Simon._ “Trespassers will be shot on sight.” _One blast could take Simon out._

_That’s_ what pulls the trigger, pulse blast narrowly missing Yellow’s helmet and passes through the captor as they wisp by like smoke. _Missed me_. Red whirls around to find the wisp rematerializing behind him.

_Fuck_ , Red comms in. _Who is this guy?_

Hank makes a runthrough of all the databases they can access. Connor should say something, _has_ to say something. But what can he say about his savior, the same one almost killing his teammates now? Connor opens his eyes, looking at his palms, the very same ones that touched the mask only a little while back. He balls them up, and does something very drastic and possibly _very_ stupid.

“Patch me in,” Connor voices into the comm. “Red, force an interface and _patch me in!_ ”

Eyes wide, Red follows the instruction to the letter. A scuffle, the sounds of a struggle, and then Connor’s world fades to silver.

 

* * *

 

Connor’s in a garden, full of roses in bloom. Some red, some blue, some white, all thorned and deadly to someone who isn’t paying attention. Akin to an Underworld visitor, he keeps to himself and touches nothing but the ground on his feet. He’s in his ranger suit without any recollection of morphing.

In the center of a gazebo, Connor spots him. As still as a statue, the android threatening to kill his teammates almost looked vulnerable. But Connor’s still wary, hyperaware of how quickly they could phase out of his grasp. The memory of strong arms holding him, solid as stone, flashes in his mind like a protest.

“You’re here.”

“You’re killing my teammates,” Connor retorts, reaching for his blaster only to find none. “What was I to do?”

They turn around, and Connor’s eyes widen. _A profile near identical to his own but still so unlike it_. Connor’s breath hitches and he has to force himself to calm down, most especially when the look-alike is approaching him.

His doppelganger is a few inches taller than him, and Connor feels a strange sense of whiplash now, the memory of the ruthless almost-killer with a shotgun on Simon’s helmet. Frigid blue eyes betraying a look of adoration, whispering woes and worries and _yourehereyourehereyourehere_ －

It’s a stark comparison to now, where Connor’s fingers are gently intertwined with gloved hands, like he’s something delicate and precious. The other hand reaches under Connor’s helmet, a more tender iteration of how the captor held Yellow’s helmet not more than a few seconds prior.

“Your friends have sixty seconds to escape,” is whispered in Connor’s ear. “ _Good luck_.”

Then Connor feels himself pushed backwards, falling out of the garden, out of the interface, falling in reverse through a sea of silver.

 

* * *

 

_Sixty seconds, one minute, six-ty seconds. Soixante secondes, sesenta segundos, sechzig Sekunden, 六十秒, 육십초._ “－Sixty seconds!”

Connor jolts from the bed that he slunk back into during his momentary loss of consciousness, the words strong when he shouts them out loud and into the comms.

_What? What’s going on? What happened in there?_ His teammates voice their concerns, but Connor can’t emphasize the urgency enough.

_You guys have 60 seconds to exit the factory before it self-destructs. Go, go,_ **_GO!_ **

 

The rangers return to base mostly unharmed and slightly shaken, some more than others. Markus takes Simon to his room for recuperation after the debriefing, and the rest are at the control center milling about in the aftermath.

“You just can’t seem to get yourself out of trouble now, can you?” Luther notes, running diagnostics on his system. “Overexert yourself after we lose all contact, and then indirectly interfacing with the enemy half an hour after waking,” he says in a calm voice, looking over to Connor who purses his lips.

North, however, is not as subtle. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” her grip is tight on his shoulders, almost enough to bend. “You just got back and here you are just, just… _fraternizing_ with the goddamn _enemy_! Do you even _think_?”

Connor has the strongest urge to retort. Do _you_? Lingers on his tongue, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to make North any angrier at him.

He doesn’t get the chance to, anyway, when she storms out of the room. Kara, who was talking to Hank by the console, looks to Connor and then to the door, and has to exit to placate their black ranger.

Hank sighs, walking over to Connor with his arms crossed. “Are you sure nothing happened when you went off the grid?” A blip on Luther’s scans calls to their attention. An encrypted transmission that neither of the humans present could decipher. But Connor, with his whirling LED, does.

_Wait for me._

Connor clenches his fists, once again conflicted. He should be saying, doing something. But he remembers the softness, the adoration, and it looks far too genuine to be anything but pure emotion. Pure emotion from something that should be an undeviated machine.

_Who are you?_

 

 

 

_Wait for me._

_W̧a̷̶i͏̢t̡ f͡o̴r ̵̢͡m͟e._

_Con̸n͝o̸͟r͟..._

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't apparent, Markus is red (android), Connor is blue (android), Luther is green (human), Simon is yellow (human), Kara is pink (human), and North is black (android). Thanks for reading!


End file.
